Since welcoming the Goddess Brigid at Imbolc, looking forward to the new shoots of spring and new ideas and projects, I’ve struggled to hang onto me.
Within the safe circle of our ritual, we shared our hopes and love, there to support each other through the coming months and from that evening onwards, I’ve dreamed every night. No big deal, you might say but I haven’t knowlingly dreamed since my mum died, over a year ago.
At first, they were comforting, almost supporting my days. Opportunities became known to me and I wanted to do them all. Having already made plans at Samhein, my diary expanded at a rapid rate so two weeks ago, I called a halt. I needed time to reflect, time to assess what I really wanted to do but every day, though I’d planned yoga and reiki, writing and meditation, demands of others shook my resolve.
And then, I dreamed the big dream. It was a nightmare, waking me three or four times in the night but when I shut my eyes, I returned to it, vivid and real until I hauled myself, weeping from the duvet to stop the pain.
I walked arm in arm with my dad, pointing out the daffodils opening their yellow trumpets to the sun. I held is hand, felt the soft, crepey skin and he told me he loved me. I carried my mum, first on my back and then in my arms, through landscapes, up stairs and along corridors, all the while knowing she was no longer alive, part of me basking in the feeling of her heart beating against me and the other half knowing this couldn’t be true. As she rested on her bed, I held her hand and she squeezed mine back, her last act before she died.
I was wobbly the following day, tearful, emotional and confused but then I began to understand…to know myself, to find the person I really am, I needed to go back to my roots…I began with mum and dad. I remembered their hopes for me, the skills and life lessons they had taught me and knew my time had come to truly grieve.
It’s been a tearful week but out of my sadness has come strength I was not aware I had. On Wednesday, I was bombarded with phone calls and emails, ‘do this now’ requests from all sides and I did them, keeping the work on the byre moving, ordering skylights, transferring money, making calls. On Thursday, I caught up with my work and on Friday, I planned a writing day….not a ‘do stuff for everyone else and then if there’s time, do some writing’ day. I said ‘no’ to two people with no apology, only that I would meet their requests the following day….you should have seen their faces! Two short stories emerged from seven hours of writing….one is a cracker that needs a little work while the other may well be rewritten in the first person but I don’t care. I’m happy that I valued my own work as equal to others.
The invitations I’ve received have been considered. Some I will attend because I want to, others I won’t because they are not what is best for me…so many times in the past I have said ‘yes’ because of others feelings but my feelings are important too. I’m deciding as me, for me and it feels wonderful.
These decisions do not come from ego but from a sense of myself within this amazing world. Understanding my place in it, defines me as a person and as the sun shines this week, I shall visit the riverbank and say ‘thank you’ for being alive, for my mum and dad, friends and family and for the opportunity to dance, heal, write and love.